


Don't Delete The Kisses

by epsilonargus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban Visits, Draco Malfoy in Azkaban, Feelings, Fluff, Forbidden Forest, H/D Fan Fair 2019, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter In Love, Hogwarts, Light Angst, M/M, Pining Harry Potter, Post-Hogwarts, Reunions, Secondary Theme: Pet Fair, Unicorn Shepherd Harry Potter, Unicorns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2020-11-25 14:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20913911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsilonargus/pseuds/epsilonargus
Summary: If Draco comes after Harry now, Harry is determined that it will have to be entirely Draco's choice.





	Don't Delete The Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[77](https://docs.google.com/document/d/16er_sVwwFtbVQxtiFqHRWhw09kwNYhywsB-R48qtVPU/edit#)
> 
> Thank you very much to my beta YS for being so very patient with me. I'm so glad we pushed through with this :) Also, thank you very much to the mods for giving me the very generous extension!
> 
> Dear prompter, I've taken quite a bit of liberty with your prompt >_< Hope you enjoy this nonetheless.

Harry is taking a unicorn stool sample when Draco Malfoy finds him.

He hears the loud footsteps thrashing through fallen leaves, accompanied by vehement cursing, and straightens up, his hand tightening on his wand. The man, who emerges from the bushes, squinting and holding a hand up to the _Lumos_ beam from Harry’s wand, is utterly unexpected.

Time freezes for a heartbeat – long enough for Harry to take in Draco’s dishevelled robes and muddied boots, his hand tightly fisted around his wand, and his rapid breathing. The moment breaks, and Draco is surging forward, eyes glittering like mirror shards. He exclaims, ‘_Finally_! Potter, there you are! Get the bloody light out of my eyes, for Merlin’s sake.’

Harry lowers his wand, bewildered. ‘Dra – Draco?’

‘Are you expecting anybody else?’ the blond retorts, jerking his robes free from the bushes.

‘I wasn’t expecting anybody at all.’

Draco does not look up. He is patting the leaves off his robes, and rubbing at dirt spots with his wand hand. Harry watches him in silence for a few seconds, his mind whirling with disbelief and disconcertment. Draco is _here_? Slowly, he raises his wand again, focusing the incandescent light on the intruder. Draco stops, a muscle pulsing along his jawline.

‘_Are_ you really Draco Malfoy? Why aren’t you using your wand?’ Harry nods towards the other man’s right hand.

The blond man is still for a long moment. Lit by _Lumos_, the Forbidden Forest black behind him, he is almost a hinkypunk – a smudge of wispy white smoke – except that the magical creature would turn solid under direct light. A ghoul, or a boggart then: Harry has unwittingly attracted its attention in a forest teeming with creatures classified XXXX and above.

‘It’s funny you should ask, Potter.’ Draco turns towards him, eyes narrowed in a squint, lips stretched into a grimace. ‘My wand is precisely why I’m here. _You_ are a unicorn expert, aren’t you?’

He raises his wand. Harry tenses, flicking his wand towards it, but Draco holds it limply, and his expression is grim.

‘This isn’t my wand. _My_ wand isn’t working for me. I need a new wand core – unicorn hair. You broke my wand, Potter, so _you_ will fix it for me.’

* * *

Harry wants to laugh. The day has taken on that sort of surreal absurdity that makes him think he has stumbled into a nightmare. He stares at Draco standing, defiant and sulky, in front of him. He looks down, and his eyes lands, dumbfounded, on the vial in his hand. The unicorn poo glows with incandescent glitter.

Yes, _that_ is unfortunately real. His mind does not have the perverse imagination to make glitter poo.

He lowers his wand, sighing. ‘_Nox._’

Draco makes a startled noise. Harry quickly summons a ball of light, and pins it in the air above their heads. The warm light splashes over the tangled undergrowth and against thick, straight trees. Draco flicks his eyes up at the light and back to Harry. How many times have Harry used this nifty little trick in front of him? _Almost every night._

Harry caps the vial and stows it into his satchel slung across his back. ‘How did you find me?’

‘Longbottom pointed me in this direction,’ Draco replies. ‘I used a locator spell. You’re not exactly a demiguise, Potter.’

Draco’s voice is pitched lower than usual, and rougher, like Firewhiskey and smoke. Harry thinks of oak, screeching and splitting in the roar of all-consuming Fiendfyre – and thin arms desperately wrapped around him, hot breath rasping in his ear, lips grazing his neck. _Potter!_ He clenches his fists, looking away.

He has thrown himself into his fieldwork to get away from it all. The Forest is supposed to be sacrosanct from everything: the war, life before that, life after that – and kissing Draco. _Bloody idiot_. Why does he have to go and think that? Because now he is looking at Draco again, and he sees the shadows smeared like ink stains beneath those grey eyes, and the tightly pursed lips, and the skin pale as a banshee’s.

He looks at Draco, and he thinks of the boy, flushed and angry, flinty and brittle as coal, who shrieked hysterically, ‘Are you _bent_, Potter? Are you trying to _snog_ me?’ And Harry cannot tell which is worse: to be faced with that monstrously cruel child, or this wraith of a man making demands on memories Harry does not want to face.

‘Fine,’ he says. ‘How do you want me to help you with your wand? I’m not an expert on unicorns. I’m only helping Grubbly-Plank with some research.’

‘Are we doing this here?’ Draco asks with a giddy, high-pitched laugh. ‘I’m afraid my problem is a little more complicated than a ten-minute consultation would entail. You will need to invite me in for tea. At your home.’

Harry gawps at him for a moment. ‘Are you – are you telling me to?’

Draco’s eyes are like moon-forged daggers. ‘Yes.’

* * *

They walk in silence, interrupted by Draco’s occasional _Salazar_ and _sodding hell_ when errant branches catch his robes. Harry leads the way, trying to ignore his grumbling. He feels the other man’s gaze like _Deprimo_ boring in his back, his skin crawling with awareness. _Merlin._ This is not how he has imagined their reunion.

He is barely aware of where he is walking, beating a path by instinct; he knows these trees after the months spent amongst them. _Draco is here._ His fingernails are digging into his palms. His mind is the same inky darkness of the night-time forest surrounding them. He is desperately casting around, but what does he say to the man he tried to forget?

Draco’s muttering is becoming increasingly grating. Harry turns around abruptly. Draco staggers backwards, his eyes wide and taken aback. His hands rise reflexively, as if he knows to fear sudden movements in dark places, before he catches himself and lowers his hands – not before Harry sees the puckered scars on Draco’s palms, familiar ones. _Auntie Bellatrix was playing with her dagger, _Draco told him, an ironic smirk on his face. _Mother put a stop to it, of course._

Harry feels those scarred palms dragging across his bare chest, the roughness sparking heat across his skin, Draco’s long fingers digging into his flesh. He hears the gasp and the whimper, mouths panting in desire. _Stop. Idiot!_ He draws back, desperate that Draco would not have seen the memories that weigh on his mind.

Apprehension and confusion flash across Draco’s face.

‘_Impervius _will help to keep the branches off,’ Harry says tersely, gesturing to his robes.

‘Oh. A spell is a little impossible for me at the moment, Potter,’ Draco says with asperity.

‘I was going to help,’ Harry retorts, rolling his eyes. ‘Don’t get your panties in a twist. _Impervius_.’ He points his wand at Draco’s shoes as well. ‘_Impervius._ Not sure what that will do for your shoes. They’re pretty much ruined. You are not exactly dressed for a walk in the forest.’

‘Well, I thought I would find you at Hogwarts, where they told me you live now. Only when I arrived by a very circuitous Floo route, Longbottom told me you are on a hike in the Forbidden Forest – for research, he said it was.’

Draco’s tone is light and breezy, his penetrating grey eyes fleeting across Harry’s face. He knows Harry would immediately want to know who _they_ are, and what else _they _might have told him. Does Draco know everything now? _And why would that be bad?_ A little voice whispers at the back of his head. _If he rejects you now, at least you would know for sure._ Harry grits his teeth, and starts walking away.

Draco continues talking, his voice airy and his footsteps loud and obnoxious in the quiet forest. ‘As you can imagine, my mission is exceedingly urgent. I can assure you, Potter, that a meeting in the Forbidden Forest was at the very bottom of my list of expectations for today.’

‘I shudder to think what might be on your list of expectations,’ Harry mutters.

‘Would you like to know?’ the other man asks a little brightly. ‘Well, I did expect to be greeted with a hex or a jinx to the face, or perhaps a “Go away, Malfoy. I would never help the likes of _you_.” Some form of rejection, you see. I must say that I am glad to have these expectations ruined.’

Harry whirls around, the bauble of light bobbing with his movement. Draco stops, blinking at him with too innocent eyes. The prat is _baiting_ him; of course, he is. Harry grimaces, swallowing his _why_ and _you stupid little berk_, and shakes his head. _Not yet. Not now. Not here._

‘I thought you didn’t want to have a lengthy conversation in the forest,’ he snaps. ‘Quit yapping and start _moving_.’

He turns around firmly, stuffs his hands into the deep pockets of his jacket, and continues walking. Draco sniffs very loudly and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like _asshole_. After a beat, the he picks up his footsteps after Harry.

Their path back to Hogwarts should be relatively short and familiar. Tonight, it seems to weave and wind through the tall, dark trunks, looping back when Harry does not expect it all. Shadows lurking between the trees beyond the reach of his light, which he has never feared, prey on the edges of his mind. The Forest is watchful tonight.

Draco’s heavy steps pause, and start, and pause again. Harry is abruptly aware of the other man’s laboured breathing, air rasping through taxed lungs. When Draco stop again, he turns around yet again. Draco is bent over, his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. He looks up, his eyes glinting with a challenge. _Take pity on me, Potter, I dare you._

Harry exhales. ‘For Merlin’s sake.’

He marches over to Draco and grabs him by the upper arm. He ignores the lightning-heat that ignites beneath his palm – even with the layers of clothing between their skin – and the way Malfoy flinches.

‘Sit down,’ he commands, pushing the blond towards a nearby stump.

‘I’m fine,’ Draco hisses, trying to yank his arm away, but Harry’s grip is unyielding. ‘Let go, Potter.’

‘Not if you are going to collapse on me, you blithering idiot,’ Harry snarls. ‘Sit _down_. We’re taking a _rest_, all right? Have you been travelling all night? Fuck, I should have remembered that you walked all the way in too. I could have walked slower, you know. Bloody stupid of you not to say anything.’

Draco takes a few moments to gather his breath, although his vicious glare is eloquent enough to make up for his temporary silence. ‘I’m _sorry_, Potter, that my fitness is not up to snuff. I have only been imprisoned on sodding _Azkaban_ for three years, you know.’

Harry drops Draco’s arm. The words are blunt Stunners straight to the chest. He does not know how he must appear, being confronted so directly with the past he has been trying so hard not to touch for the past six months.

‘I remember,’ he says numbly.

Draco rests his elbows on his knees, cocking his head and looking up at Harry. The sliver of a smile on his face is mocking.

‘Do you? So why did you stop visiting me in prison, Potter?’

* * *

Harry has thought about visiting Draco in the last six months – excessively so. He has thought about _Draco_ excessively, in the last three years, in the last seven years; when has the blond not featured prominently in his life since re-entering the wizarding world? Every year at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy interfered in Harry’s life, as surely as only Voldemort did – and Harry should have stuck to loathing the bastard.

There would not be any questions about Azkaban visits then. Nor any sudden visits from this wanker he thought he must leave in the past with his mistakes. Somehow, the greater universe has decided that Harry has not done nearly enough to make amends, and he must be put through the wringer to really atone for his wrongs.

He does not look away from Draco’s sardonic smirk, or his piercing eyes. What is there to hide? Whether Draco is really here to fix his wand or not, he is at the very least here to hold Harry accountable. He sighs, shoving his too-long fringe back from his face.

‘I couldn’t bring myself to go back,’ he replies simply; Draco will make of his cowardice what he will.

Draco blanches, recoiling. His face shutters.

‘Ah,’ he says blankly. ‘Well, the truth is never pleasant to hear. Fine. I am very sorry to have taken up your time, Potter. Point me towards Hogsmeade, and I will leave you alone.’

Harry gapes at him. He has said the wrong thing. _Bollocks._ Draco is getting to his feet, his movement stiff and tensed. Harry steps forward, taking Draco’s arm again, his hand going around the other man’s bony wrist. _He’s so thin,_ he thinks distractedly. _Has he always been so thin?_ Draco hisses, twisting his arm and trying to break Harry’s grip – ineffectively, once again.

‘Don’t be so barbaric, Potter, relying on violence to get your way,’ he snarls. ‘Let me go. You clearly don’t want me here. You weren’t thinking at all of looking me up, were you? They _lied_. They bloody _tricked_ me, and you can be assured that your dear friends Weasley and Granger are going to get it from me.’ Draco is trying to wrench his arm away, his skin chafing under Harry’s palm. ‘I’m terribly sorry for taking up your time, Potter. Let – me – _go_!’

‘You met Ron and Hermione?’ Harry demands, and then shakes his head. ‘No, that doesn’t matter now. Stop! You are about to collapse, for Godric’s sake – look at you, you berk! You shouldn’t have come after me like this into the forest. Why didn’t you just wait at Hogwarts? I would have come sooner or later.’

Draco’s eyes are flashing quicksilver. He leans in, smashing his fists against Harry’s chest, his knuckles digging in. Harry staggers, but does not let go. The light flickers uncertainly above their heads, shadows leaping around them.

‘Well, I couldn’t wait, could I?’ Draco shouts. ‘I’ve been released from Azkaban six months ago, Potter. I know what you did for me – Mother told me. And they tell me that you care for me; _that_’s why you did all those things. Ruddy lies, I see that now. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I came here, all right?’

His cry, fraught with agitation and emotion, echoes through the silent forest. Harry feels a bead of sweat trickle down his back; it is too hot beneath his jacket, despite the chill of early autumn. The forest and its denizens, spying on this absurd little scene, must now be judging Harry for making a right terrible mess of everything. Draco’s arm is still twitching beneath his grasp. The other man is looking down, his teeth gritted, hair falling in his face.

Harry opens his mouth, and finds the words missing. What does he say? What does he want to say? He did not start the night expecting to see Draco, to touch Draco. His thinking and thinking and overthinking have not inspired any sort of grand course of action to set everything proper. He closes his eyes briefly. _Morgana’s rotting tits._

Hermione accuses him of leaping with a bloody idiotic disregard for consequences. Rather unfair, that; she is assuming that he does it deliberately. Harry supposes he has only been listening to his instincts. That way of dealing with things has carried him through the struggle with Voldemort, and the war, and the life he has now – until it comes to Draco, when every instinct he obeys leads to disaster.

‘Come on; let’s go home, all right? I’ll Apparate us.’

Draco looks up, eyes narrowed. ‘We can’t Apparate in the Forest or in Hogwarts,’ he says in a tone that patently expresses how stupid he finds Harry.

Harry grins despite himself, and tugs Draco closer. ‘I’ve spent three years exploring this forest, and I’ve died here. Besides, the centaurs have shared with me a little of their secrets. Hang on.’

Harry focuses, sending his mind through the slightest chink in the interwoven web of wards and spells shielding the Hogwarts grounds. The ball of light goes out above their heads. Draco tenses.

‘What –’ he is cut off when the Apparition takes hold of them, and they are knocking into each other, bodies stretching and twisting through the squeeze of magical teleportation.

They hit the uneven ground hard, and Draco stumbles. Harry catches him by his arm, pulling him in close. Draco is gasping for breath, his eyes wide and terrified. His fingers catch on the front of Harry’s jacket, and for a split moment, he clings to Harry. Their eyes meet, and Draco shoves Harry away, staggering backwards, staring around wildly.

They have landed in Harry’s front garden, the cottage silent and dark behind them. The Hogwarts castle looms to the north, a multitude of lights twinkling in the darkness. The grounds are quiet and still, bestirred only by the wind sent through the rustling forest – and Draco’s vociferous bellow.

‘What the _fuck_, Potter?’ he screams, lunging forwards and slamming his palms into Harry’s chest – hard. ‘How the fuck is that even possible? What _are_ you? That shouldn’t have been _possible_. What have you even be doing for the past three years? You cannot only be a unicorn herder, you complete and utter _bastard_.’

Harry rubs the front of his chest, baffled and a little aggrieved. All of his friends reacted with astonishment when he first showed them what he could do, but this is the first time someone has responded with such fury.

‘It only takes training, once you know how to find the loophole in the wards,’ he says with some asperity. ‘I can teach you, if you want. It’s not a big deal. Neville has learned to do it too.’

Draco sneers. ‘Oh, _that_ sounds like a brilliant idea, Potter. Teach the convicted Death Eater how to gain entry into Hogwarts – why does that sound terribly familiar?’

Harry scowls, shaking his head. ‘Shut up. I saved us the long trek, didn’t I? I should have just done that from the start. I usually like the walk back, so I didn’t think of it at first – sorry, my bad.’

‘_Sorry_ –’ Draco splutters in disbelief. ‘Are you mocking me, Potter? What _are_ you? How could I not know that you can do _this _absurd little piece of magic? I’m wrong, I am so wrong. I don’t know you,’ – his voice cracks – ‘I made it all up in my head, didn’t I? I was so desperate to pretend that your visits _meant_ something –’

Draco is spiralling, and Harry must catch him before he crashes. He has seen enough of these rants over the years to know that Draco is determined to destroy _something._

‘Hold on,’ Harry interrupts. ‘Before you go on any further, come in and let me make you a cup of tea, yeah? You’re cold.’

He reaches out and takes Draco’s hand – all balled up in a fist, his skin cold to the touch – between his two hands. Draco stills. Harry takes a deep breath, looking up beneath his lashes. Draco’s face is blank, devoid of emotion. For all of Harry’s fears, the fact remains that Draco is _here_. For _him._

‘You’re not wrong,’ Harry tells him. ‘You are important to me.’

* * *

Harry has thoroughly mucked it up, and he has been from the moment he decided sneaking onto Azkaban on a broom with his Invisibility Cloak was a brilliant idea. It was in the month immediately after Malfoy was sentenced. Harry had been trying and trying unsuccessfully for ages trying to convince Kingsley to reverse the sentence: Malfoy was only a child manipulated by Voldemort and his Death Eater father.

‘I’m afraid that’s not how it works, Harry,’ the Minister said sombrely. ‘He has continued to support Voldemort, even after he came of age. He was already a legal adult when he fought against us in the Battle of Hogwarts – as were you. We must hold him accountable for his harmful actions, no matter how sorry he might be now.’

Hermione and Ron agreed with Kingsley, of course, and they did not understand Harry’s rage. How could they? Harry had not told them about the kisses that tasted of iron and blood and soot: in the boys’ bathroom in sixth year before Harry panicked and sliced Malfoy’s chest open, and in the hallway outside of the Room of Requirement after Harry rescued him from the Fiendfyre. Harry had not even admitted to himself that he rather liked kissing blokes.

Harry was on his broom before he realised that there would be consequences, but he thought of Malfoy standing in the middle of the courtroom, face pale and desperate and terrified, like the reflection Harry saw in the boys’ bathroom in sixth year. He flew on: over the black waves frothing against black rocks and through the wards erected around the prison island, safely concealed by his Invisibility Cloak. Aurors guarded Azkaban now, after Kingsley’s reforms, but spells would not work on Harry’s cloak.

It took him over two hours creeping along the pitch-black, chilly corridors, eavesdropping on disgruntled and bored Aurors, to find Malfoy’s cell. The air had the stench of grave dirt and despair. His childhood rival sat in the corner of his cell a little larger than a bathroom stall, arms wrapped around his knees, as he stared straight ahead unseeingly. A sliver of cloudy night sky could be seen through the barred slit window set high above.

Harry did not dare go in the first night he visited. He watched through the bars large enough for a dog to slip through, previously guarded by a mind’s own hopelessness, now fortified by spells. Malfoy did not move for the entire night Harry spent there, crouched on the other side of the bars.

When he revealed himself the next time he visited a week later, he pretended Narcissa Malfoy had begged him to come; he owed her one after all, for saving his life during the war. Malfoy was rancorous, spitting with acid and disdain. Harry kept visiting every week anyway, bringing warm stews and freshly baked muffins. The Aurors came by a few times, suspicion attracted by the inviting scent of food, but they never could find Harry.

Malfoy finally took a biscuit four weeks in, and Harry knew he was through the bars. It was strange and uneasy at first, like the unnerving breathless squeeze of his first Side-Along Apparition. Malfoy and he did not know how to behave without their usual underlying enmity for each other. It was talking about their childhoods that made a crack in the walls, and it took another half a year before Malfoy became Draco.

And Harry bolloxed it up, didn’t he? When he tried to kiss Draco again.

* * *

Draco is perched on the edge of the overly large cushy armchair, his long fingers wrapped around the old, stained mug Harry handed him. He is looking around, those cool grey eyes assessing the one-room cottage with its exposed rafters and smoke-stained walls. The furniture is heavy and bulky, the upholstery and cushions care-worn and threadbare. Everything is a hand-me-down, or something that Hogwarts no longer needs.

Harry stands by the stove, hands threaded behind his back. He stiffens when Draco returns his gaze to him. He could never have imagined this: Draco in his cottage, clutching around him Harry’s thick, red blanket. The scenario where Draco is with him outside of Azkaban – that could only have been a daydream. Harry refused to dream for such impossible things.

But Draco _is_ here now, and Harry does not know what he can or cannot dream for anymore.

‘I see you kept most of what Hagrid left you,’ Draco says.

Harry manages a dry laugh, Summoning a mug for his tea when the tiny kettle shrills. Draco snickered at the sight of the one-cup kettle, sniping, _not expecting much company, are we, Potter?_

‘Well, everything is still functional,’ Harry says, going over to take the stool across from Draco’s armchair.

Draco shakes his head, a slight smile on his face. ‘You know, you are living as how I imagined you would be when you told me you are living in Hagrid’s old cottage.

‘Yeah? What’s that?’

‘A complete and utter rubbish bachelor pad.’

Harry makes a face, laughing despite himself. ‘Fine, I’ll give you that. It could be cleaned up a little. Hermione _and_ Neville have been nagging at me, so I reckon this looks bad.’ He shrugs. ‘When I have the time.’

Their eyes meet, Draco’s gaze direct and clear. Harry’s chest is suffused with warmth, and he thinks of the nights sitting next to each other on Cushioning and Disillusionment Charmed pillows he laid on the cell floor, their arms occasionally brushing. Draco drops his eyes, taking a sip from his mug, and the glow in Harry’s chest snuffs out. He must be mad thinking _fondly_ of their days on Azkaban – Draco definitely does not. He was a prisoner; Harry skipped out every night, and left him there.

They talked about breaking him out, of course, but there was nothing to be done – not if Draco wanted to live a life free of prosecution and hiding. So they stuck it out, and Harry promised over and over that he would visit every week, that he would visit more often he could, that he would not leave Draco in that soul-wrenching place alone. Promises that he broke.

Harry hesitates. How does he resume a conversation that started when they were kids? If Draco has heard from his mother the bargain Harry struck with the Ministry, he must know the truth of Harry’s visits – and he must hate Harry for lying. He has thought of confessing – been tormented by it – but he did not, so that is a moot point now.

He glances up from his mug. The other man is studying his mug, turning it around and around in his hands. Well, he is clearly not planning to make it easy for Harry. Harry opens his mouth – to make a desultory comment about the cold weather, to ask if Draco is warm enough; but Draco gets to the Snitch before him.

‘Mother told me you returned my wand in the week after the Battle of Hogwarts ended,’ Draco says, his voice even. ‘I must have already been in the holding cells at the Ministry. She kept it in a safe all these years, but … it doesn’t work for me anymore. I can’t even get it to send out sparks.’

‘Oh …’ Harry, taken aback by the thrust Draco chooses, tries to remember the last time he handled Draco’s wand. ‘I didn’t use it at all once I managed to fix my old wand, but … it felt fine. It still felt like a wand, if that makes sense.’

Draco shrugs. ‘Well, it wasn’t reacting to me. I’ve been using my mother’s wand – doesn’t that sound familiar?’ He gives a bark of bitter laughter. ‘Anyway, I went to Ollivander, and there isn’t anything _wrong_ with the wand or its components. It just … it doesn’t recognise me as its master anymore. Ollivander said that he could help me make a new wand from the old one – I just need to get him fresh unicorn hair.’

He shrugs again, finally looking up, his eyes unreadable. ‘Which brings me here. I thought it was the bloody perfect excuse to look you up. Stupid of me. I should have known there was a reason you were avoiding me.’

He sighs, setting his mug down before looking Harry squarely in the eyes, his jaw set in determination. ‘Out with it then, Potter. Aren’t you going to tell me why you stopped visiting, but campaigned for the Aurors to release me early? I heard from Granger – I sought her out for all the gory details after Mother told me what you did. You vouched for me; you put yourself down as my guarantor. If you are trying to break any connection to me, you are doing a piss poor job of it.’

‘That’s not what I’m trying to do,’ Harry blurts, leaning forward. ‘I don’t – I don’t want to break it off with you.’

Draco sneers. ‘Well, you could have fooled me, Potter.’

‘It’s – it’s complicated.’

Harry jumps up to his feet and strides to the stove, his heart pounding hard, his blood hot in his veins. He finds no inspiration in the cast-iron pans or the dried herbs he has forgotten to throw out, and spins around again, striding back to the armchair. Draco watches him silently, accusingly.

‘I can’t – I don’t know how to say things like you do,’ Harry says, teeth gritted. ‘You always know what to say.’

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ Draco sneers. ‘You know what to say; you’re just too scared to say it! Aren’t you history’s greatest Gryffindor, you prick? Where is your so-called courage? This is embarrassing.’

‘You don’t need to be such a bastard!’ Harry snarls. ‘I’m trying, and if you are going to be such a fucking asshole about it, I’m starting to forget why I’m even bothering in the first place.’

‘That’s the question, isn’t it?’ Draco hisses. ‘_Why_ are you bothering when it’s obvious you don’t even like me enough to tell anyone about us?’

‘Don’t _like_ you enough?’ Harry exclaims. ‘You stupid little twat! I talk to you more than I talk to my friends. I fly two hours at least four times a week to go see you. I wrote at least fifty letters to the Head Auror, begging for your early release. Don’t like you enough? I fucking _love_ you. I’ve missed you every day for the last six months, and I think about you everyday. Don’t you fucking dare say I don’t like you enough!’

Draco stares at him, his face still. A heartbeat passes, five heartbeats – long enough for Harry to realise that he has gone and put everything out for Draco’s taking. He shakes his head, clenching and unclenching his fists. His heartbeat is thunderous in his ears, and his face is flushed, his skin overheating from the rush of blood.

He should have done this from the start, shaken off the fear and doubt that were wrapped around his throat like the Devil’s Snare. Those treacherous thoughts he has worked so hard to deny are now rampaging through him with the grace of panicked hippogriffs.

‘Now, was that so hard to say?’ Draco quips, a grin bursting across his face, a _Lumos_ that banishes the Devil’s Snare on Harry’s chest.

Harry takes a step back, his legs hitting the stool, and he collapses into a slump, holding back the hysterical laughter bubbling at his lips. He raises a shaking hand to his eyes. ‘_Merlin._’

‘Why did you stop visiting then?’ Draco demands. ‘That last night – you were going to kiss me, I know you were. But you didn’t, and you didn’t come back. Why did you run?’

‘I –’ Harry squeezes his eyes shut.

He sees again the dark, closed walls of the cell, and Draco’s eyes lit by the rare moonlight and laughter. The other man was leaning forwards, a warm hand on Harry’s shoulder, playfully pushing him for a silly little joke Harry made. Harry caught Draco by the wrist, and he was leaning in too, his mind swept up in the moment made buoyant by some elf-made wine. He could taste the sweetness of the wine on Draco’s breath, feel the heat and desire quivering on their lips – then the clouds swept over the moon, the light disappeared, and Harry was suddenly aware of what he was trying to do.

It would not be right to take Draco – no matter how dearly he wanted him – when the scales of power were so clearly tipped in his favour. Draco was alone and scared, and Harry was near about his only access to the outside world. Draco had no choice; he was vulnerable, and Harry manipulated it to his favour. Of course, he should not have gone, should not have kept up the clandestine visits in the first place. He had fucked it up from the very start.

So he had to leave. He had to. It would have to be Draco’s choice. Whatever happens next, Harry wants it to be Draco’s choice.

‘I … I wanted to see if you would chase after me,’ he says quietly.

He raises his head. Draco watches him, his eyes searching, scrutinising, picking up the pebbles he sees and examining them, wondering if he might toss them into the lake to see what he disturbs. The smile is gone from his face, leaving behind only thoughtfulness.

‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’ Draco asks. ‘The most difficult thing about the past year was that firstly, I physically couldn’t go after you, and I couldn’t ask my mother to look for you, because,’ – he makes a face – ‘nobody should know about how you were breaking the sodding law.

‘And when I was finally released, and I thought I would look for you and hex you or jinx you or something for fucking toying with me – because I thought, you must be. Why would you have chosen _me_ when we hated each other? But my wand wouldn’t work for me and I find out _you_ are the reason why I got early release. Do you realise how _fucking_ confused I was, Potter?’

Harry is wincing. ‘I didn’t mean to do that. Hermione warned me, but – I – I was sure this was the right thing to do. Fuck, I’ve really made a bloody mess of things. I wasn’t playing around, all right? I was never playing around. It’s … it’s only _right_, you see? I – I’ve been forcing you, haven’t I?’

Draco is gawping at him, looking only more and more flabbergasted as Harry goes on. ‘The only reason you could have wanted me was because I was the only one there. I … I had to be sure that you would choose me if – if you had a choice to begin with.’

‘Harry,’ Draco says, and stops, surprised by the name that slips out between his lips.

Harry sits frozen on the stool, his back stiff and straight. Draco has only ever called him _Potter_, even after the first time Harry called him _Draco_ to his face. It has always been a distance Harry thought, rather despairingly, the other man does not want to breach. So it was _Potter _sneered derisively, _Potter_ shrieked with desperation, _Potter _whispered longingly. Not Harry. Never Harry.

‘Harry,’ Draco says again, and he is slipping off the armchair, kneeling down by Harry’s legs. ‘Harry.’

Draco takes Harry’s hands between his, his touch warm and persistent, igniting _lumos maxima_ within Harry. He looks up at Harry, his eyes still searching Harry’s face. Harry instinctively recoils, uncertain if he wants Draco to find the right pebble, but Draco presses down on his hands harder.

‘Harry, you are a complete and utter idiot,’ Draco says matter-of-factly. ‘You are my choice from the very start, you prat. Have you forgotten that I was the one who kissed you in sixth year? And when you rescued me from the Fiendfyre? I did that even though I thought you were straight. I forced it on you too.’

Harry is shaking his head. ‘No, don’t be ridiculous. _I_ kissed you. I grabbed you, didn’t I? In the boys’ bathroom, when you were scared and crying –’

‘_I_ lunged forwards,’ Draco interrupts, a fierce frown on his face. ‘I wanted to provoke you. I didn’t expect you to kiss back. You were supposed to be straight.’

‘Of course,’ he adds with a snort, ‘once I knew you like blokes too … it was a forgone conclusion. I think I’ve always wanted you … your attention. Even if I couldn’t have _you_, I still wanted you to think about me. That’s why I … did all those things in school – not an excuse for being such a prat of course. Sad as it was to say, I was always gagging for your attention, Harry.’

His touch is scorching hot against Harry’s skin, as he raises his hand, and presses his palm to Harry’s cheek. Harry closes his eyes, humming, and leans in to Draco’s touch. _Draco _– the name fits like the last puzzle piece in his mind.

‘It was a mistake – such a stupid mistake – giving in to Voldemort,’ Draco whispers. ‘As if I could ever do anything to help him kill you. When we all thought you were dead … I thought I might die too, without ever telling you what you meant to me. This is bloody warped, isn’t it? Bloody perverse.

‘Don’t you see, Harry? If you want to talk about forcing, or laying traps, or manipulation, lay those crimes at my door. I would gladly take another three years on Azkaban if that means I can have _you_.’

‘You Slytherins are too bloody good at words, aren’t you?’ Harry whispers, laughing a little.

He opens his eyes, reaching out to lay his hand over Draco’s on his cheek. Draco’s eyes are fervent, his face open and honest with his eagerness and vehemence.

‘Would you believe me if I say I love you?’ Draco asks, his voice husky.

Harry only laughs, and kisses him in reply. Draco leans in, pushing himself up to straddle Harry’s legs. He kisses with intensity, his lips pressing hard against Harry’s lips, a gasp escaping between his parted lips. He holds Harry by the back of his neck, his fingers burning a brand against Harry’s skin.

They part for a breath, and Draco is dropping kisses on his cheek, his chin, his neck, his arms wrapping around Harry tightly. Harry laughs breathlessly, slipping his arms around Draco’s waist. Their bodies press against each other, heat growing between them. There could be no denial now that they are both longing for _this_.

‘I suppose the unicorn hair for you wand can wait tomorrow,’ Harry says.

‘I hope it’s a myth unicorns can only be approached by virgins,’ Draco says with a smirk. ‘Because you might just be out of a job tomorrow.’

He yanks Harry in before Harry can think to say another word, and they are kissing again – this time, certain that it is entirely each other’s choice.

**Author's Note:**

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